So: an elf. As far as he knows, he's never been here before; as far as he knows, he was a talking pile of ash scant minutes ago. As far as he knows, he's in the afterlife, and--
"This is -- really -- not what I was led to believe it was like."
Um. Hi! Angrod son of Finarfin, courtesy the Silmarillion, reintro'd and reset after, what, the better
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"Does this mean maybe I get to meet some of the family I've adopted now?"
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A touch of a scowl. Because arrrgh. Worried.
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The woman speaking is in the room, sitting on a sofa, thoughtful. "But you are quite alive, I assure you."
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She smiles.
"There are many who come here, believing themselves dead, but I can tell who is, and who is not."
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